


We're NOT a team!

by esseepee



Category: Half-Life but the AI is Self Aware
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Autistic Tommy Coolatta, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not A Game AU, Pining, Slow Burn, Tags TBA, They/Themrey, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esseepee/pseuds/esseepee
Summary: Gordon Freeman is a twenty-seven year old single, divorced father working in a dead-end job instead of his dream one. Something will change, however not in the way he expects.
Relationships: Benrey/Forzen (Half-Life) (past), Benrey/Gordon Freeman, Bubby & Gordon Freeman, Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), Dr. Coomer & Gordon Freeman, Tommy Coolatta & Gordon Freeman
Comments: 23
Kudos: 111





	We're NOT a team!

**Author's Note:**

> HI this was made out of pure hyperfixation. some characters don't appear yet but they will !! also, mind the tags, they most likely will update as i flesh this out more. don't worry, i wont be graphic with violence or any unsavory topics like that, but there WILL be angst. the emotional baggage + constipation is strong within this crew. hope you enjoy ! <3

One overtime shift turned into two before Gordon could realize. When he struck up small talk with a clocking-out co-worker, rambling about work, she said  _ no, the Black Mesa Exclusive article is due today. _

_ That can’t be right, _ he thought, then said. Apparently, it came out harsh rather than confused, because the woman proceeded to point every flaw visible, from the coffee stain on his button-up to his rat’s nest called hair. She didn’t wait for a response, strutting away with her lunch bag.

Now Gordon is lingering in the breakroom, tapping impatiently as his coffee brews. He should pack up, go home, call in saying he overstayed. His boss would understand, she’s nice. It’s Thursday, right? She comes in early, maybe he could catch her on the way out? What time was it, anyways?

The clock shows one AM exact. He squints but the hands don’t move. The coffeemaker squeals, but Gordon can’t bring himself to look over, nonetheless grab the mug. A sudden wave of exhaustion washing over him. It isn’t Thursday.

It’s Wednesday.  _ What the fuck. _

“What the fuck?” He runs a hand through his hair, snapping out of his stupor. Gordon slowly grabs the cream and pours, one, two, three, four, five seconds. He watches the bright swirls with wide eyes. Oh God, Maria was right. He’s a fucking workaholic.

Gordon stirs, eyes flickering to the clock. One-oh-five. It’s been five minutes already? He yanks the spoon back, liquid jumping out and staining his already ruined button-up. Oh God. Oh God, his whole  _ day _ is ruined, nevermind his fucking shirt. Did he fall asleep? Why did no one wake up? No, he must have worked fifteen hours straight without realizing it.

It shouldn’t--it  _ isn’t  _ a big deal, but Maria’s words echoed in his mind.  _ You can’t keep doing this, _ she said before handing him the divorce papers.  _ I hope this is a good enough wake up call. _ It wasn’t. It still isn’t, but it was probably the nicest excuse she had. For fucks sake, he felt more excited about completing an article than seeing Maria after his shift. He’s a  _ horrible _ person.

“hey.”

Gordon jumps, knocking his coffee over and burning his hand. “Fuck!” He exclaims, grabbing an absurd amount of tissues and patting the area. His cuffs were stained too,  _ shit. _ Why did he have to grab a big mug?

“you’re not suppose to be here.”

He shot a nasty glare towards the person before doing a double take. Even under the dim fluorescent lights, the person’s pale skin was tinged grey and shrouded with shadows. Gordon couldn’t see their eyes, or most of their face.

“um.”

“Um? What the fuck, dude?”

“gayass.”

Gordon jerked back, nearly hitting his head on the cabinet. “Excuse you?”

“no i gotta be here. bro don’t be upset unless you’re a homie phobie.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“gonna need to see some id.”

“No,” An incredulous laugh escapes Gordon’s clenched mouth. He balled the tissues and threw them into the trash. “I’m not giving you shit.”

“wtf you got nba? playstation?”

“What are you saying to me?”

“you dunked that, bro.”

“I’m not your bro, dipshit.”

“well i’m not your dude, dude.”

This is ridiculous. “I’m gonna ask again, and you’re gonna answer truthfully. Who are you?”

“i dunno man i just live here.”

“This is a fucking office building, you can’t-- no. No, you’re just pissing me off on purpose.” Gordon heaves a sigh and walks around the person. Within a blink, they’re blocking the door.

“... Let me pass.”

“no.”

“I’ll fucking call security, stop messing with me.”

“i am security.”

“Bullshit.”

“i got my credentials.”

“Prove it, then.”

“i dunno man you’re fishy.”

“What.” The amount of irritation that flooded his tone masked any sense of inquiring.

“like tuna. sardinas.” The person pauses. “you want pizza, bro?”

“One, don’t call me bro. Two--”

“aren’t you my tindr date. where are we going if not chunk cheese.”

Gordon blinked rapidly, mouth agape.

“bro you’re gonna catch flies. man i wish i swiped no.”

“What the fuck.”

“i don’t date guys that eat bugs.”

“I don’t think anyone dates you  _ period _ .” Gordon snaps with an angry frown.

The person is silent for a moment, lips slightly apart as if in shock. Gordon uses this opportunity to push past, ignoring the other’s protests. When a hand grips his shoulder, Gordon spins only to come in contact with a fist. Gordon yells, stumbling blindly until bumping into a cubicle. He clutches his nose, narrowing his eyes only to see stars as the fist reconnected.

“yo chill, man. i have it-- had it under control. man. you’re so fucking, fucking mean he didn’t even see you my guy was going. straight forward.”

“It’s your fault, you said the building was empty.”

“this guy is like. a ghost. said dan phantom mode on.”

“I love you, but,” The man gripped Gordon’s shirt, lifting him. “you’re dogshit at scouting.”

Gordon narrowed his eyes, vision steadying as he focused on the candy red mask. Mustering all he could, Gordon kneed his captor in the gut and shoved him away when the grip loosened.

“uh oh. baby boy man’s ego bigger than his fivehead. wuh woh.”

“Fffuh-fuck you, B, godamnit, does that guy have prosthe--he’s getting away!”

Surprisingly, he was. Gordon panted, stumbling over his own feet as he slammed into the fire exit. He bolted down the stairs, fishing for his phone while looking over his shoulder. Not too far behind him was the masked man. Faintly, he wondered if “B” was wearing a mask, but pushed that thought aside.  _ Not the time, Freeman. _

He careened around the corner only to bump into aforementioned person. “Shit--!” Gordon exclaimed, struggling in the surprisingly strong grip. “You don’t gotta do this, dude, c’mon, I won’t-- won’t--”

“tell the police? lameo. thought you were cool, bro.”

Gordon, harnessing his anger, steadied his legs and rammed B into the wall, arm pressing firm into their neck. “I won’t tell, but I’ll fucking  _ finish you off myself.” _ He growled, narrowing his eyes. B was struck with the same expression prior to Gordon escaping the breakroom--slightly parted lips, though Gordon could feel the person relax beneath his grip.

“Wha--” He didn’t get to finish his thought as he was yanked backwards. With a yelp, Gordon was thrown down the stairs as if he weighed  _ nothing. _ Last thing he saw before plummeting was B’s shocked face and masked guy’s fist pump.

Next time he woke up, pain flooded his back instantly. A headache formed, causing Gordon to groan and rub his temples. Sirens. He could faintly hear them, along with a cacophony of voices and movement. Gordon was on his guard as someone sat next to him.

“Whuh--” He slurred, wincing at the bright light flooding his senses. It’s from the sky. It’s day time. A cloudless day, when the previous was masqueraded with grey. It all hit him like--like an--

“--mbulance? Freeman, hey!”

Fingers snapped in front of his face until they were slapped away.

“Now, now, Bubby. The man clearly has no sense on what’s happening, give him a moment!”

“Ambulance…” Gordon mumbled but remained unheard.

“Harold, he could have a concussion. Or some other stupid internal shit.” Bubby crossed his arms. Gordon saw out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re a doctor!” Harold states, albeit more cheerfully than the situation called for.

“A doctor of  _ science, _ not of flesh bags. Honestly, how do you not know my occupation?”

“You sure have a way with words, professor!”

“Oh hush!”

“Whuah…” Gordon squeezes his eyes, clutching the side of his head. His hair was undone and dirty. He needs a shower. He needs a lot of things, he concludes. “What the fuh...?”

“Freeman, you there?”

“Buh-- Mr. Coomer?”

“Yes?” Both men said before glancing at each other.

“Harold, I’m his co-worker.”

“Oh, right! Heehee!”

Gordon swerves his head, wincing, staring at the man to his left. A round, bulky elder with white tufts not unlike clouds on the side of his head. Laugh lines and crow feet decorate his face, alongside worry. Gordon narrows his eyes.

“How rude of me! I’m Harold Coomer, husband of Bubby, your co-worker!”

“And damn proud, too!” Bubby chimes, puffing his chest.

Gordon slowly blinks, holding his head. “Uh… Huh. Con--congrats, man. Ugh… Shit, what--what fucking happened?”

Harold plops beside him. “My dear Bubby found you on the bottom of the stairwell! You had several bruises, but otherwise unharmed! There were signs of intrusion, was there anyone but you?”

Gordon grit his teeth, head pounding. “Two weirdos, yeah. Before that there was this woman, but she left before they showed, I think.”

They were quiet. Gordon took that as a sign to continue. “One was, like, really shadowy and shit. Couldn’t see them at all despite standing in light. You know how the breakroom light fluctuates, Bubby.” There wasn’t even a hum of acknowledgement. Before he could say anything, Harold interrupts him.

“A woman was found severely injured outside the building. A Miley Woodsman?”

Gordon blinks. That was her name? “Short brown hair, pale, tall?”

“Precisely.”

“Yeah… Yeah, she--she had her lunchbox before she left. We were talking, then she left. It was… Around 1 AM. I was going to go home, but…”

Harold places a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need to force yourself to explain. The police will interrogate you more than needed.”

“They-- did they think  _ I _ fucking…?” He trailed off, face scrunched in disgust.

“It’s pigs, what do you expect.” Bubby grumbled. “We’re staying, though, Harold is an immovable force.”

“You say that as if you didn’t agree!”

“I  _ didn’t!” _

“You didn’t complain.”

“Guys, guys,” Gordon started, pushing himself up. “I… I appreciate it, but I’m a grown man. I can handle a few assholes…”

“Then let us marvel at your handling skills!” Harold chirps, clasping his hands together with a wide grin Gordon knew he couldn’t say no to.

He could, but it would all on deaf ears.

By the time Gordon was able to leave, the sky was a greyish navy blue. It turns out Harold and Bubby were needed, as they constructed an undeniable alibi with what little he said. They exchanged numbers due to Harold’s insistence and gave him a lift.

“I can’t thank you guys enough, seriously. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to--”

“You can start by leaving, you’re letting the cold air in!” Bubby exclaims with a scoff. Harold merely laughs.

“Yes, that would be a nice favor. Text the group chat when you wake up, if you do!”

Gordon blinks, grateful smile faltering. “Uh… Yeah.”

“He’s saying in case you sleep in. God knows you need it.” Bubby mutters.

“Ah! Right, right… Well, goodnight, you two.” Gordon says, leaning away. The car immediately sped off, Harold leaning out the window and yelling a ‘goodbye, Gordon!’

Gordon, once inside his house with all entrances and exits locked, drops on the couch. “Fffffff…” He groans, kicking his shoes off and rolling onto his back.

“bro you’re looking for a roommate?”

Gordon screamed.


End file.
